


In His Arms

by morriganmatron



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, I Really Should Have Toned Down the Angst, No Fluff, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, So much angst, too much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morriganmatron/pseuds/morriganmatron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has a habit of frequenting taverns after the devastating news that she is to be betrothed to Gaston, drowning her confusion in alcohol. Rumplestiltskin goes to the same tavern each night to strike deals with the broke villagers. Out of desperation, Belle strikes a deal with the Dark one to put an end to her troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something More

**Author's Note:**

> I was so surprised how many of you were already interested in this story! I'll be finishing up the second chapter soon, and I've also went ahead and added an excerpt from Belle and Rumple's first meeting from chapter 3 for you all! :)

I wake up and I do not know who I am.

All I know is that I must have slept for a long while. I faintly remember falling in and out of dreams or nightmares, but I cannot tell which because they all seem the same in my head. The room I fell asleep in is freezing, and I can barely feel my fingers on the frosty windowsill when I squeeze them tightly together. Covers are strewn haphazardly across the floor from the bed, but I don't have a blanket anywhere near me. Still caught in the haze of sleep, I realize I am sitting in the bay window of my bedroom, still in my pale cream nightgown without a slip or undergarments underneath.

I sit up quickly, causing a rush to fill my head, disorienting me. My hands are still outstretched across the windowsill as when I woke up. I seemed to be reaching for something as I slept fitfully, and for a moment, I feel as though the memory of a name that has not been whispered in secret for many years is on the tip of my tongue.

The name my mother whispered in my nightmare.

I can see it as though I am back in that room again, at the moment my mother decided her daughter was more important than her own life. She said the name like a fearful prayer, the syllables sounding like another language.

"Please. Please, for my daughter. Please."

Her cries had done nothing. I still don't know to this day why mysterious sorcerer did not come and save my mother. Did he not think her worthy of saving? It might have postponed the inevitable for a few more moments, as a dull quiet settled on the room before the door caved in and the monstrous ogres barged in. But it was only a moment, and nothing more. My mother's face still haunts my memory, her mouth frozen in shock and fresh tears still trailing down her pale cheeks, her eyes locked onto mine.

She didn't avert her gaze even as the biggest ogre grabbed her by the waist and crushed her like a yarn doll as I hid under the table, stricken with fear and unable to scream.

Now I feel even more unable to form words as I stare outside at the frozen wasteland that has become my kingdom, lost in nightmares and solemn memories. My mother always smelled like chamomile and lavender, even on that day. It had begun like any other, and I wonder now that if my mother had known she wouldn't be there to see the sunset, would she have held her daughter more closely at midmorning? Would she have told her to be brave? Would she have kissed her husband more times than necessary, just to remind herself she was alive?

I have kept a sprig of lavender in my room ever since my mother passed. My father says it suits me, and that it reminds him of youth. He doesn't associate it with mother, and I don't think he ever means to again.

My hands have clenched themselves into tight fists as I've daydreamed, pushing into the freezing glass of the window to keep myself awake. I have a horrible headache and I feel as though as spell was performed on me last night, and the aftereffects are still wearing off. My vision is somewhat blurry, and I sense that something is just beyond my reach once again. Memories, like a fog, settle over my eyes as I begin to shake and my palms feel the chill begin to creep into my bones.

My open palms make patterns on the frosted window, but it doesn't take away the mysterious grief I feel. I feel as though I've lost something that wasn't there in the first place: an imaginary world, a pretend fantasy, a fever dream. 

Outside, in the real world, fires burn in the distance, hidden only by snowbanks. Here, however, everything is glossed and gilded and hidden and guarded. Even my own memories. Even from myself.

But something strange happens as I reach for the window to pull it open and welcome the bitter cold. The fog is suddenly lifted, and I can clearly see my face and wrists, framed and decorated with purple spots that resemble violet smoke. Green patches surround the deeper purple ones, and suddenly I understand why I woke up anywhere but my bed, in anything but my undergarments.

My stomach heaves as I stand up quickly, a hand on my forehead to stop the sudden pain exploding behind my eyes. I am desperate to make any motion, any action, anything more than being passive. I have already been too passive. The room is spinning and I fear that I will be back on the cold floor where I started the night. The night that I had forgotten until this moment.

The room is as Gaston left it. The covers are still on the floor, the gin bottle overturned and leaking onto the carpet near the door. The smell is only partially masked by my lavender sprig, and it upsets my stomach even more. I can still see every moment in detail, flickering like a violent flame behind my eyelids.

I know now why I slept beside the bay window and not in my own bed.

Gaston had seemed gentelmanly enough, as he could be, towering over everyone in the room as he walked in and seeming to all the world a fine young suitor. I had been taken aback at first and a bit flattered, but I pressed on for the good of my family and my kingdom.

How could I have known that the man- if he can even merit that title- knew all along what he wanted with me? My father couldn't have known, of course, or else he wouldn't have let Gaston past our front gates. My father is a good man, but sometimes he is too blinded by duty.

Gaston had lavished his finest on me. His manners had been impeccable, he wore his best clothes, and the dinner impressed even my father, the King. I had never had gin before last night, only the finest wines with dinner, and even that was sparingly as we were on the brink of war. 

I never wanted to taste another drop of gin again.

His fancy costume was only for show, of course. The beast had had his way with me as soon as we were alone in my room, the servants off duty and my father sound asleep after too much drink. Looking around my room in the early morning light, I can now tell that he left nothing for himself out of the bottle, it had always been for me; that must be why I felt halfway dead when I woke up.

My mother had told me to be brave. Did she know I would need courage for something such as this? A part of me wishes I would have died... But looking at the colorful bruises that decorate my arms, showing signs of a struggle on my part, I know within my heart that is not the truth. A part of me fought, a part of myself wants to live and win. I don't know what irrational part of my mind that is, but I am quietly thankful for its existence as I lay down on the chilled floor and let my tears fall freely and I succumb to the dark numbness of dreams and nightmares once again.

It seems only a moment before I'm awake once again, frozen, with my hands outstretched, reaching for something I cannot see. The name that eluded me before is as clear as the sky on a summer's day, and the sound of it is awkward and foreign on my lips, but all-too familiar nonetheless. As my lips form the exotic syllables, I feel a rush run through my body, and a hush surrounds the room as I whisper it into the dark gloom of the night.

"Rumplestiltskin."


	2. Fever Dream

This is just a placeholder until I finish the chapter! But you can go to chapter three and read an excerpt of Belle and Rumple's first meeting. :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Something There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just an excerpt of this chapter, but I had so much fun writing this scene. :)

"Rumflskilskin!" Through my blurred vision I can just make out the sorcerer whom grown men fear as I slide into the booth across from him. I know that I am horribly drunk and that I should maintain my composure at least somewhat, but I have to laugh to myself because he looks a bit shorter than I had thought him to be.

I tip my pint glass up in a toast, sloshing a bit of the beer onto the table. I laugh and rub my arm across the spill and look back at the man sitting across from me, who still hasn't said a single word.

"You're short." Great, Belle. You finally meet the one wizard you've been looking for for weeks and all you can think to do is comment on his height.

He looks taken aback and a bit irritated, if not slightly amused at the fool I am making of myself. "I am? I hadn't noticed."

I snort and beer comes out my nose, because I didn't know he was a sarcastic ass. Powerful, yes. Feared, absolutely. But the Dark One sitting in front of me has just made me laugh, and I do not know what to make of that.

"You aren't the first one to use that line on me." He stares at me for a few long moments. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes as he realizes how far gone I am. I would know that look, because that's the same one Gaston gave me. But this look is a bit different. Instead of malice, I see mischeviousness glinting behind his overly-large brown irises. "What name did you call me again, dearie?"

I set down my glass and put my hand out, gesturing the syllables as I reach each one to make sure I get it right. 

"Rumbleskiltskin. I need your help."

"Oh?" The corner of his mouth lifts, but he chooses to ignore the obvious murder of his name. Instead, he waves his hand and a puff of dark purple smoke swirls and then disappears on the table and a glass of red wine is left in its place.

I stare at it in awe, partially because I haven't seen a cup of fine wine since the onset of the Ogre Wars and partially because he just conjured alcohol out of thin air. 

I laugh as I reach out without thinking and grab the goblet and take a few hearty gulps, the red liquid running down my chin and onto my riding dress. I know that father wouldn't approve of any of this. But then again, if he knew about Gaston, he might not approve of me either way.

Rumplestiltskin stares at me in mild shock, as though he wouldn't expect a lady to consume so much drink.

"I'm not a lady," I clarify for him as I set the cup back down as gracefully as I can given the circumstances. I figure I might as well be as open as I can if I want help from the Dark One. I can tell he doesn't like unnecessary conversation, and I fear I've already wasted too much of his time. He seems a very busy man.

Because that is what he really is, a man. I can tell, even in my drunken state, that he is vulnerable and very much human underneath the reptilian armour. He might have caught me at a bad moment, but when I was sober and watching him from afar these past few days, I know that he came to this town for other reasons than tavern-hopping. Even if I'm not entirely sure what those reasons are.

He still hasn't touched the drink in front of him since I drank from it. He has done nothing in the past few moments except watch me quietly.

I don't know what to say next. I am beginning to sober up, somewhat, and I can feel the familair tinge of regret begin to creep in. "I'm, um, sorry. For your drink. And your name."

"No need to apologize for the name, dearie." He flicks his wrists in an unfamiliar gesture around his face, and I briefly wonder if he is taunting me. "You weren't the one who gave it to me. Now my father, on the other hand..."

He trails off with a short laugh, but then glances back towards me, his eyes bright. He points a scaly finger at me. "You want to make a deal."


End file.
